


Bad Enough To Be Good

by deklava



Series: Dark!Lestrade and Slut!Sherlock [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Consensual Kink, Fingerfucking, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-07
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 22:30:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1281139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deklava/pseuds/deklava
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sherlock,” he said, voice husky as his palm roamed over those smooth white cheeks, pausing every now and then to squeeze. “You were a real berk this week. But you know that, don’t you?”</p>
<p>Sherlock, whose cuffed hands were braced against the floor, nodded. The movement caused the ‘Property of Greg Lestrade’ tag on his collar to swing.</p>
<p>“Yeah, I figured you did it on purpose. Looking for attention. Reckon I’ve been too easy on you.” His hand rested on the smooth curve of Sherlock’s upturned buttocks, which tightened in anticipation. “Before we start, it’s only fair to warn you: on a pain scale of one to ten, this one’s going to be an eleven.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Enough To Be Good

**Author's Note:**

  * For [chasingriver](https://archiveofourown.org/users/chasingriver/gifts).



> A belated birthday gift for my awesome beta, **chasingriver**

Sherlock knelt in the corner of Lestrade’s study and tried to control his trembling. He wanted what was about to happen: all week he’d timed his insults and staged his misdeeds in a manner calculated to annoy the older man and bring on this punishment. But part of him -not the part with the aching erection, obviously- wanted to get off the hardwood floor and run out of the flat while his arse was still white.

Lestrade, his eyes a stormy shade of blue and mouth grim, sat on the heavy wooden desk chair that had been pushed into the middle of the room.

“Right then,” he said, patting his knee with one gloved hand. “Over you go.”

Sherlock didn’t even try to plead for mercy: he’d given up that option when the bit gag was buckled across his mouth. Heartbeat quickening in anticipation and fear, he stood up and approached.

Pride stabbed through him when he heard Lestrade swallow heavily. Sherlock knew he looked hot: nothing concealed his body from the DI’s rapacious stare except for a thick belt and pair of skintight black leather chaps. They framed his crotch and arse perfectly and somehow made him feel even more vulnerable and naked.

Lestrade swallowed again as Sherlock settled across his spread thighs. His face felt hot and his cock ached in his too-tight trousers. He hoped he could deliver the intended punishment without coming in his pants.

It didn’t look promising.

“Sherlock,” he said, voice husky as his palm roamed over those smooth white cheeks, pausing every now and then to squeeze. “You were a real berk this week. But you know that, don’t you?”

Sherlock, whose cuffed hands were braced against the floor, nodded. The movement caused the ‘Property of Greg Lestrade’ tag on his collar to swing.

“Yeah, I figured you did it on purpose. Looking for attention. Reckon I’ve been too easy on you.” His hand rested on the smooth curve of Sherlock’s upturned buttocks, which tightened in anticipation. “Before we start, it’s only fair to warn you: on a pain scale of one to ten, this one’s going to be an eleven.”

Sherlock shivered. Then he grew harder. He braced himself for the inaugural blow, but Lestrade only chuckled.

“Spread your legs more, you manipulative little pain slut.”

Sherlock shuffled his thighs further apart, leaving everything exposed to Lestrade’s hungry gaze: his drawn-up balls, stiff cock, and puckered hole, which winked and shone under a sheen of lubricant. Intrigued, Lestrade took his gloves off and circled the clenched muscle with his forefinger.

“So this is why you were in my bathroom so long. Getting ready for my cock, were you?”

The younger man nodded again. He arched his back, begging for more and Lestrade gave it to him, slipping his finger inside. Feeling the hot and slick channel squeeze around him, he hissed, “What a greedy, gorgeous bastard you are. I’m definitely going to fuck you afterward. But whether or not you’ll be allowed to come is another story.”

After a few more seconds of slow fingerfucking, Lestrade pulled his hand back and brought it heavily down on the other man’s arse. Sherlock gasped, but that was all he had time to do before Lestrade struck him again, turning his skin a vivid shade of pink. His fingers dug into the rug and held tight, bracing him as blow after blow rained onto his creamy backside.

“Bitch,” the DI grunted, cock jumping against Sherlock’s belly each time his hand connected noisily with the heated, reddening buttocks. “You get off on this, and _goddamn it_ , so do I!”

Teeth bared, he altered his strokes so that the next one landed right in the sensitive crease where Sherlock’s upper thighs met his buttocks. Sherlock wailed around the bit in his mouth, spread his leather-covered thighs wider, and began to rub himself against Lestrade’s trousers. The delicious friction, combined with the hot, buzzing pain in his arse, slowly dissolved his control.

“Filthy whore,” Lestrade spat, although he did nothing to stop the frottage. “Humping my leg like a street mongrel. Carry on: but if you come on me, I’ll put you in the humbler for a week.”

Sherlock paused as he remembered the last time Lestrade had applied that malicious device to his balls. He’d been tied face-down across the DI’s desk, legs apart and mouth stuffed with his own pants, unable to do anything except take it as his balls were pulled back between his thighs and the humbler bars clamped into place behind his scrotum. Once it was secured, Lestrade untied him and ordered him to stand up, which proved impossible to do without painfully stretching his sac. Sherlock had been forced to crawl on all fours for the rest of the night to lessen the agony, which left him so aroused that he now squeezed his balls while masturbating, eagerly mixing pain with his pleasure.

A week might be a bit much, though. He reluctantly stilled his hips.

Lestrade resumed the spanking, vibrations from the blows passing through Sherlock’s body into his. The policeman felt his cock jerk again, demanding access to the flushed arse that was turning redder by the minute. Excited to the point of barely-controlled savagery, Lestrade’s next blow actually left a hand-shaped bruise behind.

Sherlock gave a mangled groan and tried to focus on not coming.

“That’s it,” Lestrade chanted, his breathing ragged. “That’s it. Good boy.”

The praise ratcheted Sherlock’s excitement. His arse was the color of blood but still he wanted more, wanted those rapid-fire explosions of pain to become crueler and crueler until he forgot himself and was just a normal vessel -normal piece of _transport_ \- needing to come. Pain was his gateway to peace as well as orgasm, and they both knew it.

Lestrade stopped to give his hand a rest. When Sherlock uttered a noise of protest, he chuckled darkly.

“I can always bring out the humbler if you’re bored.”

By way of reply, Sherlock braced his palms against the floor and stared over his shoulder. His face was wet with tears and drool and his eyes, normally cold with contempt, were dilated with desperation.

“Please,” he begged. The word was garbled but his desperation was crystal clear.

Lestrade reached out and traced his lips, which were stretched open by the gag. “Yes, Sherlock? Is there something you want?”

The younger man’s head dropped and his arms buckled. He hung limply across Lestrade’s thighs, sore and hard and desperate. He tried to speak again, but all he could do was sob. He needed to come so badly, and both revelled and quaked in his weakness.

Lestrade’s hand, warm from the flurry of action, massaged his swollen arse. “Reckon I should fuck you now.”

Sherlock responded by sliding off his Dom’s lap and positioning himself on the floor with his knees wide apart and hips raised, presenting his hyper-stimulated body. The passive yet wanton sight made Lestrade swear and stand, fingers scrabbling at his zipper.

“Fuck, Sherlock,” the DI hissed as he yanked his trousers and pants down to free his cock. He dropped to his knees behind Sherlock, grabbed his hips, and pulled him backward. “Going to fuck you _so hard_!”

The detective let out a loud, drawn-out moan when he felt a blunt and slick pressure against his entrance. His body yielded easily as Lestrade pushed in deep, all resistance gone.

Lestrade held his position for a few glorious seconds, trembling as the urge to fuck Sherlock into oblivion coursed through him. Finally he cursed and began thrusting hard, sweat dripping down his face and fingers biting into his lover’s slender hips.

Sherlock screamed- or tried to- as he was viciously fucked. Lestrade’s hips colliding with his bruised arse was like getting spanked all over again. Vision blurring from the combined agony and pleasure, he started to reach for his cock, but stopped in time with a frustrated wail. He buried his face in the carpet, tormented by the mounting challenge to his resolve, and waited, praying he wouldn’t come before Lestrade did.

Above him, the DI’s breath was coming out in broken, harsh gasps.

“Going to come now... fuck, yeah!!”

He came so hard that he collapsed across Sherlock’s arched back with a sated groan. His arms snaked around the detective’s narrow waist and held tight as round after round of semen shot deep into the body beneath him.

“So fucking tight, and _mine_!”

Sherlock bucked and squirmed, his hole clamping down around the shaft pulsing inside him. When he felt Lestrade pull out at last, his strength fled and he collapsed onto his side, fists clenched and cock dripping nonstop onto the rug. “Pleasepleaseplease,” he chanted.

Lestrade unbuckled the gag and removed it. “Beg,” he ordered, sounding rather stern for someone who’d come so hard his legs were still shaking.

“Please let me come. Please!”

“Why should I?”

Sherlock nearly punched the floor in desperation. The heat was amassing in his groin and his balls were drawing up.

“I need it. Please!”

“Is that how it is then? You need something, you’re entitled to get it? Don’t think so.”

Sherlock nearly cried. His throat actually tightened. “Please, I want you to see how much you turn me on. How much I need your control.”

“And what else?” Lestrade shifted into a kneeling position, heels resting against his buttocks. His cock still hung out, softening and now content. Unlike Sherlock’s.

“Your discipline. And-” Sherlock licked his lips “-your ownership.”

Lestrade didn’t reply. At least not verbally. He grabbed the younger man and pulled him upright, onto his lap but facing away. Three fingers, still slick, snaked between Sherlock’s buttocks into his loosened hole, which still dripped come.

“Yes. My ownership. Because you’re mine.” The DI began to harshly finger-fuck him while stroking his cock with his other hand. “You get this because I give it to you. Go on then. Show me how much you want this.”

Sherlock didn’t have to pretend: he roared with relief as Lestrade’s hands tore apart the last vestiges of his restraint. It didn’t take long for the policeman to feel Sherlock clamp down around his fingers, followed by the shuddering explosion of the younger man’s climax. Sherlock’s ecstatic struggles sent semen flying everywhere: over the floor, the furniture, and the wall. Lestrade made a mental note to have him lick it all up after.

When the detective finally collapsed backward, head resting against his lover’s shoulder, he gasped, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Lestrade kissed his neck just above the leather collar and cupped his still-twitching cock. “Are you going to behave from now on, hmm?”

Sherlock’s wet lips parted in a groggy grin. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Lestrade grinned too. “That’s my boy.”

 

 


End file.
